


Old Soldiers

by thylekshran



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M, about a year after the ENT finale, just for context, this takes place in 2162
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 23:53:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12758862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thylekshran/pseuds/thylekshran
Summary: Shran shows up to a Federation event for the first time in a while. Archer realizes something he should have figured out a long time ago.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for Shran/Archer. I'm even more a sucker for long time friends falling in love. This was very self indulgent.

The stoic air of official Federation functions is soul crushing, Archer thinks. His days in space may be nearing their end now that he’s got a responsibility to this greater cause he’s championed into existence, but by god would he rather be on his bridge. He takes a long sip of his drink.

The Vulcan delegation seems the most at home, Commissioner Soval nodding solemnly at something a human councilman is saying. The Tellarites came over to exchange a few pleasant insults earlier and now seem happy to complain loudly when anyone comes within earshot. It’s as hard as ever to tell if they’re genuinely upset. Hoshi is the only human Archer has ever known that can read them.

Only one person he hoped to see hasn’t shown their face. Admiral Shran rarely makes appearances unless it’s absolutely necessary (when asked, he grumbles that he’s “hardly cut out to be a diplomat”), preferring to stay on his home planet with the Andorian branch, but Archer saw him on the guest list for tonight. He’s just wondering if he should go look for him hiding away in a back room when his familiar deep voice speaks up behind him.

“You throw quite a party, pinkskin.”

Archer meets Shran’s cool smirk with his own smile. He looks well, given all he’s sacrificed; Talas, his place in a shelthreth, the chance to be with his daughter as she grew up… the tired lines on his face betray his proud stature, and Archer feels a twinge of sadness. They’ve all lost something, but it was never Shran’s fight, and he fought it anyway.

“Well, when I saw our long lost Andorian Branch Admiral would be here, I couldn’t let it be as boring as the last one you attended. Two of those in a row and you’d never come back.”

“I didn’t realize you were so eager to keep me around,” Shran laughs, the exhaustion wiped away by a smile that crinkles his eyes and relaxes his shoulders.

To his surprise, Archer finds himself quite taken by it. He knew Shran was handsome, of course, but every time they met, they were caught up in something, for better or worse, that had kept him too occupied to linger. Now, in this relatively quiet moment, he’s almost overcome with fondness for his old friend. “Why do you think I encouraged you to take a job with Starfleet?”

“Because you knew no other Andorian would bring you ale as good as the stuff I get,” Shran says. They grin at each other in silence for a moment, and Archer’s eyes wander across his face again.

“Join me for a drink, then?”

“When have I ever said no to that, pinkskin?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two are incredibly useless, it's a marvel they got anything done on the show.

Shran hands Archer his refilled glass across the little coffee table. They’ve found some remote corner of Federation Headquarters and are well into their second bottle of ale, which explains the warmth of Archer’s skin as their hands brush. Andorians run hot compared to humans, though not by much, and Archer’s intoxication has evened them out, making the touch enjoyable instead of the usual cold shock.

The human admiral is passionately discussing recent first contacts and which species he hopes the Federation will seek relations with, and Shran listens to him talk gladly. It’s been many years since they’ve had time to sit down together. In fact, apart from a few brief encounters for diplomatic functions and the rescue of Talla, he’s not spent time around Archer since before he faked his own death.

Time and hardship has really changed them, he remarks to himself. Archer has started to grey, the weight of the Federation no doubt weighing him down, but in this moment he’s as spirited as he ever was. Age looks good on him, anyway. Shran has been attracted to him since their second encounter (well, their first, but he tries not to remember how he bloodied his friend up out of ignorance and anger), and finds his strong nose and wide, friendly smile just as charming as he did twelve years ago. He gave up hope that they would have any sort of intimate relationship back then and put it behind him, but he’s quickly finding out that some part of his heart had never quite moved on.

“Archer,” he interrupts. “We’re not at a negotiation, no need to strain our ears by sitting so far apart.” He gestures to the couch he’s on, feeling bold. There’s nothing to lose.

That boldness lasts another ten seconds, because Archer settles in with barely an inch between their knees, and Shran’s breath suddenly comes short. Archer opens his mouth to leap back into conversation, but frowns. He’s lost his train of thought, Shran guesses. Same man he’s always been, under it all.

“Pinkskin, did I ever tell you how much I missed our friendship while I was on the run?”

“You could have called,” Archer says with a small smile, but there’s a sadness that crosses through his eyes. “I thought you were dead.”

“Believe me, if I’d felt it was safe you would have been the first I told.” Swallowing the nervousness collecting heavy in his throat, Shran touches his leg.

If Archer is surprised, he doesn’t show it. He licks his lips and returns the contact, running his hand up from Shran’s elbow to his shoulder lightly. “I know. I missed you too.” He seems to realize the moment is tense and jokes, “I couldn’t believe you’d left me to deal with the Imperial Guard myself.”

Shran laughs along and squeezes the leg in his grip affectionately, but there’s still something in the air that he doesn’t know what to do with. Luckily, Archer being Archer, he doesn’t have to do anything.

He moves his hand and places it over Shran’s, making warm, serious eye contact as he does. “I’m sorry you got pulled into my fight, Shran.” When he opens his mouth to respond, Archer shakes his head. “The Federation was my crusade, and I know how much you gave up to make it happen. I never stopped to think about it then, but I wanted to say… thank you. For believing in this, and for everything you did to make it happen.”

Blinking back a storm of alcohol-fueled emotion, loss and respect and something unformed that he doesn’t want to admit is love, Shran’s voice comes out gravelly. “I didn’t believe in the Federation. I believed in you.”


	3. Chapter 3

Antennae alert and voice raspy, Shran stares right into Archer’s eyes, pinning him with the unfaltering gaze of a soul much older than the face it wears. Fear, war, pain, they rewrite you in ways you can never understand. All of that stares out at Archer, and his mouth goes dry.

“Archer… Jonathan,” Shran begins, calling Archer by his given name for the first time he can remember. “If it had been anyone else, I never would have put my faith in this. Put in the work to convince the Guard that the Federation was worth it.”

He sighs, and his antennae bend and twist outward, conveying some emotion deep within him that he keeps carefully off his face. Archer remembers he’s currently holding Shran’s hand against his leg and softly brushes him with his thumb. “And is the Federation worth it?” He asks quietly.

A scoff escapes Shran. “I don’t play nice with Vulcans and Tellarites for fun, pinkskin.”

It’s such a typically Shran thing to say that Archer almost feels like they’re out in space again, arguing over the latest wrong the Andorians have suffered, and he breaks into a grin. Shran looks like he’s going to speak but before he can, Archer flips his hand under the one still resting on his knee and holds it tightly.

The action sends Shran’s antenna shooting back up to their full height in shock. They’re both hyperaware that this is the most intimately they’ve touched each other outside of the Ushaan, and a fight to the death isn’t the opportune time to have an emotional moment.

Hesitantly, Shran pulls his hand away, looking unsurely at the floor. “We shouldn’t stay missing from the party much longer.” He forces a laugh that contradicts the way he crosses his arms against his chest. “Someone will start rumors.”

“Soval, no doubt,” Archer teases. “Vulcans are insufferable gossips.”

No response comes from the alien, who looks smaller than ever with his body drawn into itself defensively.

“Talk to me, Shran.” He bites his lip and then tries, tentatively, “Thy'lek?”

Slowly, he brings his strong gaze back to Archer’s, cheeks almost imperceptibly darker. “You can’t possibly be so oblivious, Archer. Not even you could-” He struggles for a long second. “You must have known. I followed you into the Expanse, risked my ship and crew… they were my family, you think I endangered them for some voluntary mission? I did it for you.” He raises his chin and clenches his jaw. “All of it.” Archer thinks he’s going to look away again, but he draws his shoulders back and sits tall instead, daring him to react. Stunned, Archer can’t find the words to do anything of the sort. They stare at each other, silent, but the thoughts circling in Archer’s head are louder than any words could have been.

“Why now?” It’s almost aggressive, the way he asks, but it’s too rough, the hurt just barely masked.

“What would we have done twelve years ago, Shran? Would you have left the Kumari for me? Did you want me to leave Enterprise for you?”

“What about after the Kumari was destroyed?”

“You had a wife!”

Shran stands, balling his fists. “A shelthreth is not a monogamous commitment!”

Archer opens his mouth, and then is struck with something he’d never thought of before. He lowers his voice. “Maybe I wanted one.” He’s never been in tune with his own mind, it being so crowded and so scattered. But recalling the endless distractions he sought when he found out Shran married Jhamel, he realizes that he’s always felt something he never let get to the surface. “Maybe I still do.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A happy ending, because I can't bear to think of them being sad.

Shran has absolutely no idea what he expected to come of this conversation, he jumped into it without thinking. Maybe that Archer had found his devotion irritating, or that he’d been trying to let him down gently by never acting on the obvious romantic intentions of Shran’s behavior. He certainly didn’t expect Archer to show genuine interest in him, after all these years of unrequited flirting.

It’s not like he didn’t know Archer’s tendency to miss the obvious, but Shran was too obvious to have been overlooked. Yet Archer seems as confused by his confession as Shran is.

“Don’t play games with me, pinkskin,” Shran says, barely above a whisper, though he was attempting a growl. “Not after this long.” He can’t take his eyes off him (though that’s hardly a new phenomenon), his traitorous heart searching his face, his posture, anything for a sign that he meant this.

Archer is still sitting, a frown accentuating the wrinkles that had slowly taken them both, and Shran suddenly feels the weight of their years crash down. He sighs, and sits down next to the human that’s consumed his life so completely.

Into his mind, unbidden, comes the thought that they look like some dramatic political portrait- two admirals, side by side, looking seriously into the middle distance- and he laughs out loud.

“What’s so funny, Shran?” Archer looks at him tiredly, and he has no idea what to say.

“We’re a couple of old fools, Jonathan.” He laughs again, ruefully, and takes his hand. Archer still looks unsure, which he supposes is fair, since he was shouting at him a minute before. “What we did or didn’t feel, did or didn’t do… what does it matter?”

“I don’t understand. If I hurt you-” Distress crowds the edges of his voice and he cuts himself off abrubtly.

Shran reaches out and touches his cheek. “Maybe this is how it was always meant to be. Like you said, how would this have worked then? We’re here together now.” He brings the hand he has captive to his lips, mumbling his next words against it. “Jon, our lives aren’t over. We don’t have to live in regret.”

“You’d still have a washed up pinkskin like me?”

“What’s that human phrase from your bonding ceremonies? ‘Till death do we part?’”

“That’s the one.”

There isn’t a lot of peace to be found in times as turbulent as theirs, in lives so tied to the fate of a world with an uncertain future. They can’t know when death will part them, nor if they will last until then. But in the here and now, they can be happy.


End file.
